Painted Lips, Dirty Knees
by English Muffin Pizzas
Summary: A small idea I'm trying out. After Sherlock's 'death', and pre Mary, a lonely John Watson befriends a prostitute. She just might be what he needs to cope. Kind of John/OC, but not super mushy and relationshippy, later Mary/John.
1. On The Corner Of Baker Street

**A/N:** this is just some derpy thing I've been toying with. It's been a very, _very_ long time since I've written anything but I'm slowly starting to get back into it. I'm a bit rusty. This is only going to be a handful of chapters... so it's not going to be a super complex plot or anything. Sometimes simple is best :)

ALSO... I no longer have a computer and am doing this all on my phone, which you all probably know is a pain in the ass. So if there are any odd mistakes or formatting, that is why. I will do my best editing wise.

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John had noticed the girl on the corner of Baker Street only a few days ago. He didn't need to be a Holmes to figure out what she was waiting for...she couldn't have been any older than nineteen, and had been there the past few nights in various revealing outfits complete with uncomfortably high heeled shoes. Occasionally a car would slow down next to her and she would saunter over to it, leaning against the rolled down windows to talk to whomever was driving. He would watch from the apartment window as she grabbed cash from the driver and stuck it into her bra before climbing in through the passenger side.

Then they'd drive off.

Shed be back at the corner in about an hour, until another car would pick her up and repeat the process. Most nights watching from the window, John would fall asleep. She was always gone by the morning, and John would feel disgusted with himself. Was he really so lonely that he sunk this low-stalking prostitutes from his window? Maybe he was no better than the dirty old men who picked her up from the Baker Street corner.

If he was honest with himself, the young woman intrigued him. Baker Street was not a usual area for such happenings... Why would she pick this corner? He wondered about who she was and how she got stuck in a job like this.

One particular night, he happened to catch her as she arrived at the corner. At the same time, Mrs. Hudson had come up to wish him a good night.

"Have you seen this?" He asked, nodding out the window toward the girl. "This girl has been out here every night for a week."

Mrs. Hudson made her way next to John and looked out. She let out a small sigh. "I get so worried for these poor girls. Out there in the cold, sleeping with those ghastly men. You know, when I was a dancer, most of the men who came to see me were married. Can you believe that?"

John gave the older woman a questioning look. "Dancer?"

She gave him a simple smile, brushing off his comment. "Good night, dear, " she said before heading out the door and downstairs.

John returned his gaze to the woman at the corner. She looked so uncomfortable, switching her balance from one foot to the other, constantly pulling at her skirt and tightening the small black coat around her body with a shiver.

Mrs. Hudson was right. It was cold out there.

And John felt bad for her.

And John felt bored. And, yes, lonely.

He got up and threw on a jacket and tip toed down the steps.

John stood at the bottom of the steps, hand on the door, ready to open it yet frozen.

What was he going to say to her? Was it wrong of him to assume she needed or wanted to be saved? Maybe it was rude of him to assume she was unhappy... After all, she could like her job and he was just bringing his own judgments into it.

Curiosity got the best of him and he opened the door, and walked over to her, his hands shoved nervously into his pockets.

How exactly does one approach a lady of the night?

She turned at the sound of his footsteps and eyeballed him, and John felt nervous. He changed his mind and walked past her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, John thought. What're you going to do, walk around in the middle of the night until you leave?

He didn't realize her watching him as he walked past and it startled him a bit when she spoke up. "Wanna fuck?"

American. That was a surprise.

John froze.

"100 for an hour."

He turned to face her. "What?"

"Fuck. Its when... "

He put his hand up, shaking his head, interrupting her. "I know what... That... Is... "

She grinned. "I see you watching from the window every night, you know."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, trying to play it off.

She shook her head with a grin. "I'm Lacey."

"John." He held his hand out and she took it, shaking it.

"I was just about to go get a late night bite to eat. Care to join me? My treat. "

She grinned again. "I would, but if I'm eating I'm not earning."

"Then I'll pay for the hour. We'll eat, talk, and then you can come back here."

Lacey looked at him for a moment, studying him. He was a good looking guy, and he didn't seem like a murderer or a creep. "100 for an hour."

John nodded. "Yep, heard you the first time."

He took out his wallet and counted it out before handing it to her. She double counted it and stuffed it into her bra as he had seen her do with previous clients. "Okay, John. Where to?"

"You pick."

Lacey thought about it. "Ummm... Oh, I know! McDonalds!"

John laughed. "McDonalds?"

"Don't hate!" Dorothy cried out with laughter. "I'm an American; what do you expect?"

"Alright then. McDonalds for my American friend."


	2. I'm Sinking Fast, It's Alright

John followed next to Lacey as she walked up on the curb, arms outstretched for balance, takeaway bag in one hand, her shoes in the other. She had gotten cold and was now wearing his coat.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question concerning your... Profession?"

She grinned. He was uncomfortable with her job, that was obvious. "Sure."

"How did you get into this?"

"Quite easily."

He exhaled through his nose, a light chuckle. "Really."

"You want my sob story," Lacey said with a slight smile.

"If you don't want to, that's fine."

"I got kicked out when I was seventeen. Couldn't find a job. that sort of thing. It's a long, weird story."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Oh," she paused to think about it. "A couple years?"

"So you're about nineteen then?"

"Twenty. I didn't start right away."

"Do you like it?"

She shrugged. "Wouldn't say i like it, but it's not too bad. You get used to it. plus, money is money, you know?"

John nodded.

"And I'm clean," she added, just in case he had wanted to sleep with her. "I get tested every month. I use protection. I shower before and after each client."

"Aren't you ever worried though?"

"Sure. I may be a prostitute but I'm not an idiot."

"Didn't mean to imply that."

"I know. It's sweet of you to worry about a stranger."

John watched as Lacey hopped off of the curb and onto the street, landing in front of him. "What do you do?"

"Im a doctor."

"Doctor, huh?" She asked. She dug around the bag of takeaway and brought out her burger before handing his to him. "Maybe next time i see you I'll wear my naughty nurse costume."

"Next time?" He questuoned with a chuckle, taking a bite from his burger.

She smiled. "I have a feeling I'll see you again."

"Well, you do operate right outside my flat."

Lacey nodded. She brought out her phone and checked the time. "So the hour's almost up... If we're going to have sex, we better get going."

"No sex," John replied. "Just company."

"Fair enough."

They made it to Baker Street and, completely surprising John, wrapped her arms around him in a small hug. "Thanks for the food, John."

He awkwardly returned her embrace. "Yeah. Thanks for the company."

"Anytime."

"Anytime as long as I have 100 quid, you mean."

Lacey laughed. "I'll see you later, John."

John nodded and headed into 221b.

"John, you have a visitor," Mrs. Hudson's voice woke him from the much needed nap he was taking in his chair.

John stretched and nodded at his landlord. "Yep, okay."

He wasn't quite sure who to expect. Mycroft? He hadn't seen him since Sherlock's death. A client who somehow hadn't heard the news? He had gotten a few of those.

Mrs. Hudson moved out of the way to let the visitor through. John was surprised when he saw Lacey standing there, dressed in completely normal clothing, his coat neatly folded and tucked under her arm.

"Lacey!" He said. He quickly jumped up and ran a hand down his hair in a feeble attempt to fix it up.

She gave him an awkward wave and smile.

John had hoped that Mrs. Hudson hadn't recognized Lacey from the other night and got any ideas that he was seeing prostitutes. The look Mrs. Hudson gave him said otherwise.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John said with slight annoyance in his voice.

Lacey thanked her as well before the landlady shut the door, chuckling to herself.

"So, you're here."

"Is that okay?"

John nodded. "Any particular reason?"

He immediately cringed at himself, hoping he wasn't coming off as rude.

Lacey brushed it off. She had sensed his apprehension and she understood. She was a sex worker and they had quite an age gap between them. "Your coat," she answered, handing it over to him. "I washed it. I hope that's okay."

John took it from her. "Oh. Thanks."

She nodded. "So, last night, I thought you looked a little familiar. And I couldn't figure out why."

Oh no. Where could she have possibly seen him?

He watched her as she walked around the room, eyeballing all the curiosities. John noticed her gaze paused for just a brief moment on the spray paint smiley face on the wall. Her expression turned uncomfortable for just a moment before she finally looked away.

"I've seen you in the papers," she told him. "Bachelor John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes."

John sighed. "Yeah, but I don't take cases anymore. That was more Sherlock's deal."

"I always thought you guys were lovers," she said, accidently out loud.

"We weren't lovers!" John replied, exasperated "Why does everyone always think that?"

"I don't know. I think you guys would be cute together."

John rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I knew him."

John gave her a look. She had known Sherlock? How? Did Sherlock sleep with her? He wasn't sure that Sherlock was even interested in sex, and probably not with a prostitute who was a lot younger than he.

"Were you a client of his?"

"No...and before you ask, he wasn't one of mine either."

"Then how could you possibly know Sherlock?"

She shrugged. "'It's a long story."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," she said with a smile. It was a story for another time. "Anyway, John, thanks for last night. See you later."

She walked over to him and kissed his cheek before turning and walking out the door and down the stairs. John turned red and sat down, not quite knowing how to feel.


End file.
